


Cover Me

by emungere



Series: Ladders [18]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Face Slapping, M/M, Scarification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:31:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8742553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: Will gets his casts off. Hannibal adds to his collection of scars.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [标记](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15275136) by [Lisimo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisimo/pseuds/Lisimo)



> Thanks to the lovely fitofpique for betaing! <3

Will was scheduled to get his casts removed on Thanksgiving. He couldn’t sleep the night before. He lay still in bed for a long time, matching his breath to the regular rise and fall of Hannibal’s chest. 

Eventually, he wheeled himself into the kitchen, thought about making coffee, and ended up by the door out to the patio instead. The moon hung low, impaled on bare branches. Moonlight gleamed off the pond. Wig came and nosed at his ankle until he picked her up. She flopped over in his lap, asleep at once. 

On the coffee table, his phone started buzzing. It lit up with Freddie Lounds’s photo, a picture she’s taken herself and put into his contacts. He snatched it up and answered, hopefully before the noise woke Hannibal. “It’s three in the morning,” he said. 

“Do you know what tomorrow is?” Lounds’s voice was slow, not the snap and rattle of information that usually made up her conversation. 

“Thanksgiving,” Will said. 

“Yes. That is right.”

“Are you drunk, Lounds?” 

“Yes. I am drunk.” 

“You’re supposed to wait until after the turkey for that.” 

“Fuck the turkey,” she said, each word clear and crisp. 

“Not going home for the holidays, I take it.” 

“I have not been home since I left. If I’d wanted to be home, I wouldn’t have gone away.” 

“You’re still drinking at whatever time it is there.” 

“Whatever time it is,” Lounds said. “The forensic genius can’t even do backwards math.” 

“Do you mean subtraction?” 

“I have had a lot of vodka. Fuck you.” 

“It’s three in the morning, fuck you. Can’t you ever call when normal people are awake?” 

“I don’t know any normal people,” Lounds said. 

Will didn’t have anything to say to that. He didn’t know any normal people either. 

“Why are you awake?” Lounds said. She sounded cross about it. “You were supposed to tell me to shut up and go sleep it off.” 

“Couldn’t sleep. I’m getting my casts off tomorrow.”

“Are you getting a walker? I bet you have to have a walker. Send pictures, I need a laugh.” 

“Shut up and go sleep it off,” Will said. 

Lounds cackled into the phone, but it stopped abruptly, cut off by a quick breath. “Listen, I never do off the record, but will you answer a question for me, off the record?” 

Will glanced automatically toward the bedroom, shoulders tensing. But Lounds couldn’t know. If she did, this wouldn’t be off the record, no way. “What question?” 

“What’s it like, knowing he’ll come for you if everything goes to shit? Is it good? Or is it just terrifying because he is terrifying or is he not terrifying to you because of this weird fucked up thing you two have?” 

Will blinked out at the moon for a couple of seconds. “It’s all that. Good and terrifying. It’s — mostly it’s complicated.”

“That I believe,” she said. “Do you like it though? Would you pick this over not having a terrifying serial killer guardian angel?” 

“Why? Planning to find yourself one?” 

“I just wonder what it’s like. I could disappear off the face of the Earth, and no one would even notice. It’s something I think about on holidays,” she said, matter of fact. 

“While drinking vodka?”

“Nothing more seasonally appropriate than getting drunk alone.” 

Will couldn’t argue with that. “I’d notice,” he said. “If you disappeared.” 

She snorted and then hiccuped and then giggled. “Would you throw a party?” 

“I’d find you.” 

Lounds was quiet for a long time. A glass clinked and liquid sloshed at her end of the connection. “Why?” she said finally. 

“Because I would.”

Another long silence followed, this time without the sounds of alcohol being consumed. “Go the fuck to sleep, Graham. It’s three in the morning.” 

“Okay. Happy Thanksgiving.”

She made a turkey noise at him and hung up. 

Will set his phone down on the table, put Wig, still asleep, on the couch, and went back into the bedroom. Hannibal was awake and waiting for him. 

Will got in bed and scooted over into his arms. “Freddie Lounds just called you my guardian angel,” he said. 

Hannibal kissed the top of his head. “Is that what I am?” 

“Seems like it sometimes.” 

“And at other times?” 

Will shook his head. He pressed himself closer, surrounded by Hannibal’s warmth and muscle and scent, feeling his breath and his heartbeat. 

\\*

Will left the doctor’s office with a walker. He did not send Lounds any pictures. Even if he’d wanted to, he was having enough trouble just standing up. 

“I did exercises,” he said to Hannibal, who only made an agreeable noise and helped him into the car. “Every goddamned day. And why the hell were there raisins in my cast? We don’t even have raisins in the house. How did they get in there?” 

“All sorts of things can fall into casts. I did make pain aux raisins about a month ago.” 

Will grunted. He didn’t want to think about wearing raisins for a month. His feet had looked like alien things when they’d come out of the casts, scaly with dead skin and white as death. They felt alien now, wedged into shoes for the first time in three months. They didn’t hurt, but everything else did. His back and hips had ached from so much time spent sitting. Now they hurt in new ways from walking the short distance to the car, and all the muscles in his legs had joined in. He’d been looking forward to walking again more than he could remember looking forward to anything, but right now he was tempted to ask Hannibal to carry him into the house. 

He didn’t. When they got home, he got inside under his own power and headed for the kitchen. At least he could reach the coffeemaker without gymnastics now. 

Hannibal watched him from the doorway. “Would you like to sit down?”

“I’ve been sitting down for three goddamn months.” 

He watched Hannibal start to reply, stop, nod, and walk away to let the dogs out. 

Will continued making coffee, braced against the counter and the walker. He thought about taking painkillers. No, he decided. He’d just hurt. At least it’d give him something to blame his mood on.

He didn’t call Hannibal back when the coffee was ready. Instead, he poured whiskey into his and gulped it down. It burned his mouth. He could see Hannibal standing on the back patio, facing the pond, hands clasped behind his back. 

Will set his coffee down, got the walker turned around, and headed for the front door. He just wanted to go for a walk, even if it was only to the end of the drive. There was nothing physically wrong with him anymore. He’d seen the X-rays. His feet were fine, or at least as fine as they were ever going to be. 

The doctor and Hannibal had said a lot of things about muscle deterioration, but that was what exercise was for, and walking was good exercise. If he made as little noise as possible while getting out the door, it was only because Hannibal tended to be overprotective and not because he was doing anything stupid. With those justifications firmly in place, he ignored the rubbery, wobbly feeling in his thighs and started up the gravel drive. 

He made it to the top of the first hill. It wasn’t the pain that got him. He was good at ignoring pain. His legs just gave out. It was sit down or fall down. 

He sat on the verge of the driveway in the damp grass and aimed a shaky kick at the walker. It collapsed beside him with a sad clank. The sky was a blanket of clouds, and the air felt wet. When the first speck of rain landed on his cheek, he was almost glad. It seemed like an appropriate end to the day. 

Hannibal appeared at the door a few minutes later, spotted Will, and walked toward him. When he arrived, he didn’t look at him. He directed his attention toward the clouds. Their soft gray fingers reached down to touch the fields. The rain was picking up. Will thought of Lounds asking if he was glad Hannibal would always come for him. Right now, he wasn’t sure. 

Hannibal’s expression was carefully neutral. “Shall we go back to the house?” 

“Do I look like I can get back to the house?” 

“Would you like some assistance?” 

“No. I’d like to be able to walk.”

“It is a disappointment for you.” 

Will clutched a handful of grass and tore it from the earth. “I thought this was over. I know, you told me, but I didn’t think it’d be this bad.” 

“You’re angry.” 

“Yeah.” He rubbed at his face. “Just go back inside, okay?”

“And leave you to your mood?”

“I’ll get rained on and punch a tree or something. It’ll be fine. I know I’m being stupid. I just — can’t stop right now.”  

“If you desire violence, may I suggest you choose something softer than a tree? 

Will clenched his jaw. “Hannibal.”

“What about me?” 

Will stared. Hannibal’s expression was grave, but his eyes were bright. He looked like he meant it. Of course he meant it. “No,” Will said. 

“That’s a reflexive answer. You’ve given it no consideration.” 

“No, I haven’t, and I’m not going to.” 

“You did before.” 

“That was not — I barely touched you.” But the sense memory of Hannibal’s cheek under his palm still clung to his skin. He could feel it now. His hand was the only warm part of him. 

“I’d like you to,” Hannibal said.

Will swallowed. “This isn’t a good idea.” 

“Do you think it would help?” Hannibal blinked slowly at him, head tipped a little to the left. He wasn’t quite smiling, but he looked like he already knew he’d won. “Why don’t you try it. It doesn’t have to be hard. Though I would prefer that.” 

“Fuck,” Will said softly. He said it again with more force, and then he raised his hand and slapped Hannibal across the face. 

The blow was enough to spin his head hard to the right, and he stayed there. His tongue came out to wet his lips. His eyes were closed. “I want to cut you tonight,” he said. “Now. I want to do it now.” 

All of Will’s helpless anger had evaporated in that second of hot contact. He reached for Hannibal’s hand. “Yeah. Now is good.” 

Hannibal lifted him and carried him back toward the house. Will was so bound up in the moment that he didn’t think of protesting. “Will you tell me what it’s going to be?” he said. 

“No.” 

“Where? Not my back again. I want to watch you do it.” 

Hannibal made a soft sound in his throat and kissed Will, teeth closing over his lower lip. “On your thigh. I’m going to bathe you first.” 

He looked like he was expecting an argument, but Will didn’t have one. His palm was tingling with the force of the slap. Nothing seemed out of bounds now, and he wanted this, all of it, exactly the way Hannibal wanted to give it to him. 

\\*

Hannibal scented the bath with some kind of oil. Will couldn’t place it, but the fragrance and the steam and the heat wrapped around him like a drug. He lay still in the water while Hannibal washed his feet. The damp ends of his hair curled against his neck and forehead. 

Hannibal kissed his ankle. “Wait here. I have some things to prepare.” 

Will soaked and waited and felt the blood rising to the surface of his skin, his fingertips wrinkling, the ache in his bones easing. 

Hannibal returned with shaving cream and a razor. Will gave him a questioning look. “For your thigh,” Hannibal said. “I would like a clean canvas.” 

“Are you going to do it?” 

Hannibal knelt on a towel by the edge of the tub. “Yes.” 

He raised Will’s knee and drained enough of the water to leave his thigh exposed. The shaving cream was faintly cool, and the razor cold. Will touched his skin when Hannibal was done. It felt as smooth as plastic, sensitive and almost tender, like something newly grown over a wound. Hannibal laid a hand on it and stroked upward. 

Will’s cock stirred. “Feels weird,” he said. 

Hannibal raised his eyebrows very slightly. 

“Okay, good weird.” 

“Interesting information, but for another time.” Hannibal set the razor aside. He slid his arms under Will’s back and knees, soaking his shirtsleeves. 

Will opened his mouth to argue — it was completely unnecessary, the position was awkward, the tile was slippery, they were both going to end up in the hospital — and stopped. He closed his eyes and clung to him, arms tight around his neck, exactly as needy as Hannibal wanted him to be. It felt good. After months of resisting, it was, in the end, so easy to give in, and it gave him a low thrill in the pit of his stomach. “Don’t drop me,” he said in Hannibal’s ear. 

Hannibal held him tighter. Will could feel the hitch of his breath. “Never.” 

Hannibal had built up the fire and draped the bed with towels. He lay Will down on them, still naked and damp. He patted Will dry with a fresh towel and then simply stood and looked at him. His shirt was soaked and clinging, he was flushed from the heat of the bath and the fire, and he looked almost dazed. 

Will stretched his arms over his head and arched his back, watching for Hannibal’s reaction. “Are we ready?” 

Hannibal took a slow breath. “Almost.” 

He got out of his own clothes and knelt so that he was straddling Will’s legs. The alcohol swab he used on Will’s bare thigh was so cold it almost stung. When he picked up the scalpel, Will clutched at the sheets despite himself. 

“We could wait,” Hannibal said. 

“I don’t want to wait. Do it.” 

Hannibal leaned down and kissed his stomach. “I find your fear far less stimulating than I did last time.” 

Will choked out a laugh. His heart beat faster. “Well, that’s something I guess.” 

“Do you want something for the pain?”

“No. It’s supposed to hurt.” 

Hannibal stroked his hip. “Is it?” 

“You getting under my skin? Isn’t it? I know it hurts when I do it to you.” 

Hannibal lowered his eyes. He set the blade to Will’s thigh and made the first cut. 

Last time, the first cut had been the worst. The sextant was a simple design. Once started, it had been over fairly quickly. This one was not simple. Will lifted his head to watch as Hannibal turned the blade in fluid curves through his skin, but he couldn’t see the design. There was too much blood. Hannibal blotted it away again and again, but there was always just enough to obscure the picture he was making. 

Will laid his head back on the pillow. His stomach churned, from adrenaline or pain or exhaustion. The design grew larger, and there was no escaping the fact that it was a wound. It started to feel like looking at his damaged feet had felt: the sense of something alien that was now a part of him. He closed his eyes. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Hannibal asked. 

“No. Don’t stop. Finish it.”

Hannibal paused, blade resting in a groove he had already cut into Will’s skin. 

“Do it,” Will said. “I want it. If you stop now, I’ll finish it myself.” 

“And what a mess that would be,” Hannibal said after a pause. 

Will bared his teeth at the ceiling. “Yeah. So get to it.” 

Will couldn’t tell if it really took hours or if it just felt that way. The sun had set. Everything outside their house was dark and unknown. Hannibal had shut the dogs out of the bedroom. Will heard them scrabbling at the door now and then, but mostly he heard only Hannibal’s breath, the fire, and the thump of his own heart. 

“I don’t feel great,” he said finally. The sick feeling in his stomach had expanded. His thigh didn’t hurt much anymore, but the room was moving gently at the edges of his vision. 

Hannibal smoothed a hand down his side. “I know. I’m nearly done.” 

The individual cuts had merged into a hot, dull ache. Will looked up as Hannibal wiped away the last of the blood. The design took up most of his thigh. Stylized waves flowed down over his skin and shifted into a dozen little snakes and then into one larger one. Its curled tail ended just above his knee. 

“What do you think?” Hannibal said. 

“It’s from the story. Eglė.”

“In part, yes. The larger snake is taken from my family crest.” 

Will reached out a hand, and Hannibal helped him sit up. Will traced the edges of the design and pulled at the skin. A little more blood seeped out. He looked up at Hannibal. “I like it.” 

Hannibal leaned in, forehead against his. “I’m glad.”

Will smiled a little. “You could’ve just carved your name on me. I would’ve let you.” 

“I did.” 

“Yeah, I guess you did.” 

Hannibal pressed a soft kiss to his mouth and set about cleaning him up. Will lay down again and watched the shadows on the ceiling while his thigh was cleaned and bandaged. He let Hannibal help him into boxers and then under the covers. 

“What time is it?” he said. “How long did that take?” 

“About two hours. Would you like something to eat?” 

“Maybe.” He reached for Hannibal’s arm and held on. “Don’t go yet.” 

Hannibal stretched out beside him and laid a hand over his heart. “I’m here.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can check out my [original writing here](http://www.eleanorkos.com/) if you're interested.
> 
> [emungere.tumblr.com](http://emungere.tumblr.com)


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